


Meanwhile the World Goes On

by Xinbimodu



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Making Out, Manhandling, Mild Language, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Threats of Violence, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xinbimodu/pseuds/Xinbimodu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years of living in France with her mother's family Allison is excited to return to California for college. After all, a new year and a new life awaits her. Or so she thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meanwhile the World Goes On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [webofdreams89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/webofdreams89/gifts).



> Beta'd by my amazing sister J. but changed up at the last minute to make things flow a bit differently. All mistakes are my own. Title is from the poem "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver.

“Seventy-two, seventy-three, ah! Seventy-four,” Allison grins as she readjusts her grip on her duffel bag and swipes her shiny new keycard through the lock of her shiny new freshman dorm. 

The lights are off when she pushes open the door but the narrow window in the corner of the room lets in enough warm afternoon sunlight to keep her from tripping over the metric ton of boxes cluttering the doorway. She shakes her head at the three boxes labeled “shoes”. Her roommate must have been misinformed about how much space the college truly afforded their freshman. 

There’s a tiny pathway winding through the cardboard mountain range into a small, clear area that she figures must be her side of the room. She side-eyes the plum bedding on the extra-long twin bed closest to the door as she passes.

She’s sitting on her thin, wholly uncomfortable mattress ten minutes later, contemplating whether or not to chance calling her dad, when the mechanical whir of her room lock opening makes her look up.

“It serves him right. I told you not to let him drink so much Red Bull in one sitting,” says the person who she can only assume is her roommate. The voice is achingly familiar but the boxes between where she’s sitting and the door are blocking her view. About the only thing she can see is a black knitted cap and considering how nippy the weather was when her taxi dropped her off at the entrance to the student center she can’t really blame them.

“I don’t think anyone has moved in,” continues the as-yet-nameless roommate, her voice getting closer as she moves further into the room. Allison hops off her bed and smoothes a hand through her hair, thinking that she might as well introduce herself. “I understand what Stiles’ wards are telling him but it doesn’t look like anyone has been here except every other member of our—” 

Her roommate’s conversation comes to an abrupt halt the moment she walks around a tower of boxes and finally comes into view. Their eyes lock and Allison immediately feels her heartbeat skyrocket into a rapid tattoo against the confines of her chest. 

“Lydia?”

***

Lydia—beautiful, smart as hell Lydia, who Allison has missed more than her aunt in the past two years—stares at Allison for only a second longer before hanging up with a, “Danny, I’m going to have to call you back.” 

There’s a brief, indignant spluttering on the line and then silence as she ends the call. She narrows her eyes as she examines Allison from head to toe, dropping her phone into the pocket of her maroon pea coat and then unbuttoning the jacket altogether. 

“If you’re the shape shifter from Prague coming back to kill us,” she says with a dangerous roll of her shoulders and a flowing, practiced movement that allows her to remove a concealed LC9 from the slim holster under her shirt, “Then you’ve made a shitty decision in coming after me first.”

Allison blinks in shocked disbelief at the gun pointed at her head, “Umm. I’m … not?”

“Really? Because you sound very unsure of yourself,” Lydia says as she widens her stance.

Her finger curls a little more tightly over the trigger and Allison slowly raises her hands in supplication, a little turned on and definitely a bit worried, “No, no. I’m very sure of myself. My name is Allison Argent and you’re Lydia Martin. This is the first time I’ve seen you since the end of our sophomore year in high school and I’d _really_ appreciate it if you didn’t kill me on my first day back in California.” 

Lydia scoffs delicately at her, aim unwavering. “Is it my turn now? How about this; I have seven bullets in this clip, one in the chamber and very accurate aim. You should probably try making a less pathetic attempt at convincing me that you’re my former best friend.”

“Former?” Allison asks, trying and failing not to be hurt by the venom in Lydia’s words. But, honestly, what else did she expect? She hadn’t been in touch with anyone in Beacon Hills since she’d left in May of 2011 and now, two years later, she couldn’t pick everything up right where she’d left it. Things had obviously changed if the Lydia she’d known was now carrying a semi-automatic pistol and wielding it the same way she’d once wielded a tube of lip gloss.

“It’s funny that you focus on that instead of the gun I have aimed right between your eyes,” Lydia says, voice dripping with disdain. “The Allison Argent I was friends with could be a bit naive but she was never stupid.”

Allison drops her hands with a sigh. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch?” For the first time since Lydia aimed her weapon the emotional mask she’s wearing cracks, not by much but just enough for Allison to see the vulnerable young woman beneath the frightening nerves of steel. “I was young and terrified, Lydia.”

“We were all young and terrified,” Lydia spits back, dropping her arm and glaring balefully at Allison’s slumped shoulders. “That’s no excuse.”

Before Allison can respond Lydia’s phone starts to ring, shattering the awkward silence. She answers it as she’s tucking her gun back into it’s holster. “I told Danny I was going to call him back, didn’t I? Come in already. I know the two of you are standing in the hallway like creeps.”

There’s a bang as their room door is flung open by a strange gust of wind that sends it flying into the adjoining wall at a truly remarkable speed. “Yeah well you were taking too long and you know I get skittish when people hang up on other pack members for no good reason. The last time that happened Erica and Boyd went missing for—holy shit, Allison?!”

Allison shoots a shaky smile at Stiles as he walks up behind Lydia and waves at the wide eyed Danny hot on his heels, “The one and only.” At Lydia’s unimpressed _hmph_ she tacks on a hasty, “Although I seem to be the only person in this room who believes that.”

Stiles’ mouth is still wide open in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“I go to school here,” she says, almost as shy as she’d been at the start of their sophomore year. “Or I will come Monday when classes actually start.”

“He means what are you doing in Lydia’s room.” Danny clarifies. 

It doesn’t take long for the answer to hit Stiles like a lightening bolt. The confusion is almost immediately replaced by suspicion and outright disbelief. “No way.”

Allison nods, uncomfortable. “I know, right? What are the odds?”

Lydia, Stiles and Danny turn to each other and, between one heartbeat and the next, seem to have an entire conversation without opening their mouths. 

“Fine!” Lydia yells, throwing her hands in the air a moment later, as though she’d like to wash her hands of the entire situation. Stiles cringes dramatically and covers his ears but Danny simply smiles at Allison through a wince. The sheer volume and pitch of Lydia’s exasperation is a painful thing from across the room, much less while standing right next to her, and Allison gives a tentative smile back in sympathy.

“Where are you parked?” Danny asks as Lydia storms past him and Stiles, muttering darkly as her thumbs fly across the screen of her phone. “We’ll help unload the rest of your bags.” 

“This is all I brought with me,” she says, nudging at the massive duffel bag near her desk with her foot. “I haven’t had a chance to get anything out of storage yet.” 

“Did you literally just get off the plane?” Stiles jokes, biting his lip in embarrassment when she gives a slow nod. 

Danny shakes his head at Stiles’ antics. “Then you must be hungry. We’re meeting everyone at the dinning hall in about five minutes. You should come with us.”

She’s about to decline when Lydia’s head pops over a box, “Forgive him, Allison. Danny’s still far too nice for his own good.” Danny rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop smiling. “Your attendance is not an option.” 

Allison tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Well in that case, sure. I could definitely eat.” 

***

By the time they get to the dinning hall Allison is well and truly nervous. The “everyone” that Danny had mentioned seemed to include a new girl that she didn’t know named Kira, every member of Derek’s old pack, not including Derek himself, Derek’s sister Cora—although hadn’t everyone in Derek’s family died before she’d even moved to Beacon Hills?— and Scott. The same Scott who’d promised to wait for her after she broke up with him and left Beacon Hills for good. It promises to be one hell of an awkward encounter but she ignores the ball of worry sitting low in her stomach, takes a deep breath and steps over the threshold of the dinning hall, head held high.

Swiping their student IDs and collecting food until their trays—actually only Stiles’ tray—are overflowing is the easy part. Walking up to the table that seats ten and finding it already full of nine other faces that range from uninterested to apprehensive is a bit more difficult. 

Stiles, as always, is the first to say something after a series of awesomely bad introductions have been made, “Have a seat Allison, no one’s going to kill you.”

Isaac gives her a hesitant smile—at which point she makes a mental note to apologize for stabbing him multiple times, and for shooting Boyd while she’s at it—as he kicks out the only empty chair for her in invitation. That it happens to be right in the middle of the table and straight across from where Scott is doing his level best not to stare at her like he’s seen a ghost doesn’t escape her notice. She sits down timidly, doing her best to regulate her heartbeat and breathing in an effort not completely humiliate herself in front of a group of people that she either once called friends or doesn’t know. 

Everyone’s eating their food in a stilted, soupy silence when Scott finally stops staring and says, “I thought Lydia was lying.” 

They’re not the first words she’d ever imagined coming out of Scott’s mouth when she’d often toyed with the idea of one day running into him after returning to California. Granted she’d also thoughtlessly imagined him still being single, and that means sans the pretty girl with dark hair named Kira who’s holding his hand on the table as she eats her pasta, but such is life. 

“Nope,” grins Lydia meanly, stabbing a piece of overcooked broccoli vindictively.

“Lydia, what did that poor vegetable ever do to you?” Stiles asks, mouth full of what looks like the remains of a waffle. The two of them start arguing viciously over their plates, drawing Erica and Isaac into the fray while Boyd, Danny and the girl that must be Derek’s sister if the resemblance is anything to go by (Cory? Corine? Allison should really ask for her name again and try to remember it this time) roll their eyes as the drama unfolds. 

Allison thanks whoever’s listening for the distraction as she takes a clandestine peek through her bangs at Scott. He looks good. Really good if she’s honest. His shoulders have broadened since the last time she saw him and, though his jaw is still adorably uneven, he’s wearing his hair a bit shorter, as if he’d finally grown into the contours of his face. It’s funny, because even though she aches at the thought of what they could have been she’s surprised to find that she doesn’t have much for him in the way of romantic feelings anymore. She’d always assumed that he’d be waiting for her, keeping true to his word, when she finally came back to the United States, and that they’d be together when she returned if she hadn’t scraped together the nerve to ask Lydia out on a date by then, but she doesn’t feel anything other than a sad nostalgia for what they had back in Beacon Hills before she broke his heart and ran away with the pieces of it tucked selfishly away in her pockets.

“— I swear on my favorite Stuart Weitzman pumps that I will end you if you bring Jackson up in conversation one more time, Stilinski.”

The threat draws Allison out of her thoughts and back into the conversation with a snap, suddenly curious for all the wrong reasons, “Where is Jackson anyway? Whenever I thought about it I always assumed he’d be at the same University as you and Danny.”

The table descends into silence once more, all eyes flitting over to Lydia’s enraged visage. She smiles at Allison with way too many teeth, making her lean away in apprehension until she’s pretty much sharing Stiles’ air. 

“Much like you,” she whispers dangerously, “He ran away to Europe and never came back.” 

Allison knows she’s blushing in embarrassment but she refuses to look away from Lydia’s challenging gaze or comment on the accusation in her voice. She had her reasons for staying in France and she’ll be damned if she asks forgiveness for taking the out that her father had freely given her. Lydia rights herself in her chair, giving Allison quite the view as her breasts bounce gently with the movement, and goes back to taking her anger out on what’s left of her food. “Danny still speaks to him on a semi-regular basis so we know he’s found a pack in London—”

“But Jackson never asks about her so she refuses to ask about him,” Danny finishes. Obviously tired of the turn their conversation has taken. 

Someone snorts insensitively at that and suddenly the moment is broken. Allison does her best to hide her smile by biting at the inside of her cheek but if Lydia’s glare is anything to go by she isn’t exactly successful in hiding her reaction.

“I think I’m finished here,” Lydia says, standing with a flourish and sending her metal chair scraping painfully against the tiled floor. “If any of you need me, feel free not to call.”

No one says anything else until she’s flounced out of the dining hall, her hair billowing behind her like a temperamental flame.

“I’d hate to be in your shoes right now,” says Derek’s sister with a wry chuckle from where she looks snug as a bug under Isaac’s arm. “You should have Stiles put a few of his protective sigils on you before you head back to your dorm tonight.”

Erica bursts into inappropriate laughter, “I have to agree with Cora on that. I haven’t seen Lydia this mad since she found out that Aiden was a part of the Alpha pack.”

Boyd nods, “Never let it be said that Lydia appreciates being used to get to another person.” 

The entire table makes varying noises of agreement but Allison gets stuck on one phrase and one alone.

“What Alpha pack?”

Stiles shakes his head in disbelief and claps her on the shoulder as he stands to leave, “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do, grasshopper.”

As far as understatements go it’s probably one of the worst she’s ever heard in her life.

***

Allison makes it through her first two weeks of classes before she starts to loose patience with Lydia and her frankly unacceptable attitude. She’s halfway through week three and in the middle of a homework assignment with Boyd—she’d apologized profusely for trying to kill him the moment she saw him walking, by himself, out of the lecture hall on the second day of their five day a week Chemistry class. He’d initially shrugged and said something along the lines of, “Don’t worry about it, just never do it again.” but her six other apologies had worn at his stoic resolve until he was smiling and begging her to stop apologizing every time she saw him—when Lydia slams into their quiet atmosphere of concentration and shatters it completely by setting the music on her computer to a ridiculously loud volume. 

Boyd takes a good long look at Lydia, who’s pretending to ignore them as she unpacks the last of her boxes, and then Allison, who seems so very unimpressed by her roommate’s actions, before gathering his things and promising to text her if he figures out the answer for number fifteen.

As soon as he’s gone Allison closes her textbook and stands, ready to head to the library, when something flies past her head and hits the wall in front of her. 

Allison stares, abashed, at the stiletto now lying on her desk, and then at the chip it made in the painted concrete wall. She spins around to ask what’s going on just in time to catch another shoe in its careening path towards her face. “Lydia, stop! You almost hit me!”

Lydia turns around from where she’s bent over a box full of her shoes, the curve of her ass distracting in the tight jeans she’s wearing and says “Pity. I need to work on my aim.”

It’s quite obvious that Lydia means it and that, combined with the fact that everyone else—  
including her ex-boyfriend, his new girlfriend and several of their friends that she attempted to kill—seems to be adjusting slowly, but surely, to her unexpected arrival back in their lives, has Allison suddenly furious. “What the hell is your problem?!”

Instead of answering the question Lydia sends another set of shoes flying at her, one right after the other. This time, because Allison is expecting them, she dodges them both with a pivot and then a barrel roll that lands her right at Lydia’s feet. Lydia lets loose one hell of an indignant scream when Allison takes advantage of her position and promptly tackles Lydia to the ground. 

They tussle on the floor for a inordinately long amount of time, the shoes spread out on the floor jabbing at them intermittently as Lydia yells insults at Allison and Allison yells them right back. It isn’t until Allison wraps her legs around Lydia’s and settles her entire weight over Lydia’s hips, successfully pinning the bottom half of her to the floor, that Lydia stops trying to buck Allison off of her. Catching both of Lydia’s wrists in one hand and pinning those to the floor as well takes Allison a bit more effort but Allison’s chest isn’t the only one that’s heaving in her attempts to draw in enough breath once she does.

“Now that I have your attention,” Allison pants. She really needs to get back into gymnastics if such a short bout of wrestling has her so winded. “Please feel free to answer the question.” 

Lydia frowns at her and wiggles uncomfortably beneath Allison’s body, the gentle curve of her stomach rubbing up against the vee of Allison’s spread legs. Allison’s breath stutters to a halt in her throat, her entire body going still, as a spark of pleasure ricochets up her spine. Okay, so maybe being out of shape has absolutely nothing to do with how out of breath she is. 

“I’ll answer your question if you get the hell off of me,” Lydia spits. In that moment she reminds Allison of an angry, betrayed kitten after it’s first bath (although perhaps the metaphor is a bit misplaced considering she knows for a fact that Lydia can kill a man in at least a dozen different ways without batting an eyelash). 

It’s a struggle to make herself move away from the tempting heat of Lydia’s body but Allison manages to roll off of Lydia completely after only a second or two of trying to talk herself into it. Lydia turns her head to glare at Allison for daring to pin her to the floor in the first place but starts talking before long.

“The year and a half after you left was rough,” she begins, getting to her feet and smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt. Allison is about to tell her that it’s beyond saving but when Lydia holds out a hand to help her up she decides not to. “A pack of alpha’s came to Beacon Hills, dead set on assimilating Derek into their pack.”

Allison nods along. She’d bumped into Danny and Erica in the middle of the bookstore last week. It took over an hour, and a half dozen cups of the city’s best brew at a quaint little coffee shop off campus, but they’d managed to give her a quick rundown of what she’d missed in the past two years. She’d never imagined being on speaking terms with any of the people her family hurt ever again, especially not after Boyd had filled her in on the horrors that Gerard and Kate had perpetrated right before the end of their sophomore year, but her genuine horror and adherence to the fact that she hadn’t known seemed to be easing the way for what she hoped would one day be something akin to an easy friendship with all of them.

“A few of us almost didn’t make it to graduation.”

Lydia has her back turned to Allison as she cleans up the mess on the floor and breaks down the now empty box for recycling. She sounds the same as she usually does but Allison can tell by the tense line of her spine that Lydia isn’t blowing things out of proportion or being dramatic. If even half of what she’s been able to piece together from Danny, Boyd and Erica is true she’s surprised any of them are still breathing. 

The humans especially.

“I’m sorry,” Allison says, earnest. She’s reconciled to the fact that for Lydia the apology may never be enough. But that doesn’t mean she won’t continue to try. “You know I’m doing my best to make amends for what my family and I have done. And while everyone else in your pack is attempting to forgive me, even Derek, I’m still afraid that one day you’ll look at me and decide to finish what you started on the day I moved in.” 

It may not be a fair assessment to make but it’s true. Allison’s aware that she shouldn’t feel like the victim, especially after everything that’s gone wrong in Lydia’s life during the past few years, but she doesn’t understand what Lydia wants from her in the way of atonement for her sins.

“Wait, you think I’m upset about the way your grandfather tortured Boyd and Erica?” Lydia’s voice is dangerously quiet. Allison doesn’t get a chance to say _what else would you be mad about?_ before that drastically changes and Lydia spins around, indignant. “You think I’m pissed of that you attacked Isaac and broke Scott’s heart?”

Allison nods slowly, suddenly not so sure. Lydia’s ensuing laugh is cruel and nothing short of bone chilling.

“Let me guess,” she says, stalking towards Allison with a terrifying gleam in her eye, “You also think I’m angry at you for the way your pedophile of an aunt killed Derek’s entire family.”

Allison nods again, eyes zeroing in on the delicate flush high on Lydia’s cheeks and the perfect curve of her bottom lip as Lydia pushes up against her until her back hits the wall.

“You know, I take back what I said that first night,” Lydia remarks conversationally. “You are a bit stupid.”

And then she slots her mouth over Allison’s in an unexpected kiss that sends fire racing through her veins. For a while Allison is just a shocked, passive recipient, parting her mouth when Lydia probes at the seem of her lips with an angry, insistent tongue; tilting her head back even farther when Lydia moves to bite a string of stinging bruises into the curve of her jaw. But then Lydia threads a hand through her hair and _tugs_ until Allison can’t help but flip their positions and hoist Lydia off her feet until the only thing holding her aloft is a cruel thigh positioned between the apex of her legs. Lydia grins at Allison between biting kisses, her lipstick smeared and her hair in disarray.

“I’m not mad at you because of the bullshit that your family did,” she moans out, as Allison pulls aside the collar of Lydia’s blouse to suck a hickey over the wing of her collarbone. “You aren’t them. Hell, you weren’t even alive when Kate burned down Derek’s home.

“No, I’m mad because you never came back,” she says, pushing Allison away suddenly, until she’s blinking at Lydia myopically. Allison stares at Lydia for a minute, waiting for her to finish, and isn’t disappointed when, after running a shaky hand through her hair, she continues. “Out of everyone I ever counted on—my mother, my father, hell even Jackson—I counted on you the most to help me through the madness that comes with being a part of the supernatural world. I counted on you but you weren’t there when I really needed you.”

The look in Lydia’s eyes sobers Allison immediately. “I’m here now. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Lydia shakes her head, suddenly sad when moments ago she’d been full of anger and then laughter. There are enough fluctuating emotions in the room to give a lesser woman whiplash. “You’re here now but you didn’t come back willingly. At least not to me.”

“What do you mean?” Allison asks, heart in her throat.

“I saw you staring at Scott the day you moved in,” Lydia says casually, avoiding Allison’s eyes by picking at the chipped polish on her nails. It’s a nervous habit that Lydia doesn’t indulge in very often and that she’s doing it now says a lot. “I know he told you that he’d wait for you until you came back.”

Allison blinks once, twice. “But he has Kira now.”

“That’s not the point!”

“So then why don’t you tell me what the point is?” Allison asks gently, reaching out for Lydia and pulling at her until they’re both sitting on Allison’s bed. She’s surprised that Lydia even complies but counts her blessings when instead of bounding off the bed and heading for the door Lydia spreads out on the side closest to the wall and pats Allison’s pillow in invitation. Allison prays that this quiet, exhausted version of Lydia isn’t the calm before the storm.

“The point,” Lydia says, reaching for Allison’s hand and lipping at her knuckles until Allison is as distracted as she is concerned, “Is that I refuse to be some misguided, albeit fabulous, replacement for Scott even more than I refuse to be used as a tool to get to him.”

Allison opens her mouth to tell Lydia that she’s never been a replacement, that Allison has been harboring a crush on her since the very first time Lydia cornered her at her locker back in Beacon Hills, but Lydia presses a finger to Allison’s lips to stop her from protesting. They lay like that, breathing in each other’s air and letting everything that’s been said sink in, until Lydia falls asleep. As Allison’s eyes flutter shut she knows instinctively that, even if she’d managed to say her piece, Lydia never would have believed her in the first place. She vows silently to convince Lydia otherwise as she lets the warm weight of the body next to hers lull her to sleep. 

***

“We should push our beds together,” Allison declares almost two months after that tumultuous night. It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and she’s sprawled out on the floor, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars that Stiles and Scott stuck to their ceiling the first time the entire pack spent the night. “I mean, we sleep in the same bed more often than not anyway.”

Lydia’s head appears over the side of Allison’s mattress, a graphite pencil holding her hair together in a loose bun. There’s a smudge of charcoal on her left cheek and a frown on her face that Allison finds utterly adorable, “We most definitely do not.”

Allison scoffs in Lydia’s face and stretches lazily before rolling onto her stomach and pushing herself up off the floor. 

“We most definitely do. When was the last time you even sat on your bed?” Lydia opens her mouth to respond but Allison quickly cuts her off, “Not including the time everyone came over to watch movies and you ended up in the middle of a puppy pile with Erica, Boyd and Kira.”

She’s waiting for an answer and searching for her psychology textbook when there’s a loud knock on their door. Four hours later, after they’ve kicked Erica, Cora and Kira out and are lying in bed, Lydia quietly threading her fingers through Allison’s hair while she rests on her back between Lydia’s legs and tries valiantly not to doze off, she finally gets a response.

“I haven’t sat on my bed in almost three weeks. I haven’t slept in it for two.”

Allison tilts her head backwards to look at Lydia, albeit upside down, but doesn’t get a chance to say much when Lydia takes the opportunity to press her lips against Allison’s own in a brief, somewhat awkward kiss. So far as kisses go it’s a bit anticlimactic, especially when Lydia doesn’t try to deepen the kiss a moment later but instead pulls away altogether.

“Let me finish. It’s not that I don’t like my bed, because as far as mattresses go mine is a good deal more comfortable than yours. Its just that I like falling asleep with you pressed up against me,” Lydia admits, grudgingly. It sounds like a confession she’d rather not share. Lydia removes her hands from Allison’s hair to scrub at her face, eyes closed as though the admission has taken everything out of her and left her a dry, withered husk of her former self. Allison takes the opportunity to turn over until she can rest her head on Lydia’s chest and look at her properly, Lydia’s soft, distracting thighs bracketing her in on either side of her waist. 

“I sleep better than I have in years,” Lydia continues, “You makes me feel safe—” 

Allison surges up and, regardless of the fact that Lydia asked, doesn’t let her finish.

When Lydia doesn’t push her away, and instead parts her lips in invitation, it sends a tendril of heat curling through Allison’s belly. Lydia moans gently into Allison’s mouth, as though she can’t help it, when Allison traces the swell of Lydia’s lower lip with her tongue, trying to ease her way inside. The unhurried moment turns into a long stretch of indefinable time, that feels as thick as honey and tastes just as sweet, until Allison has to pull away for a great, gasping breath of air only to find Lydia’s eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks and her lips a red, swollen mess. Allison is inordinately proud that she’s the one who did that. That she’s the only one Lydia’s allowed since the start of school.

“So why exactly would pushing our beds together be a bad idea?” she asks in between soft, teasing bites at the curve of Lydia’s jaw. Lydia tightens her thighs around Allison’s hips when she finds a particularly sweet spot and Allison zeroes in on it with a single-minded focus. 

“It just seems like such a big move,” Lydia huffs, calmly pushing Allison away before the hickey she started can get any bigger. Allison wants to tell her it’s not an engagement ring but refrains. “And I don’t want to put any pressure on this _thing_ between us. I mean, we’ve only recently begun to find our way as friends again—granted as friends that make out pretty much all the time—and I don’t want to rush into a romantic relationship.” 

Lydia doesn’t say _especially if you’re just going to disappear on me_ even if the thought is heavily implied. Its progress though and if Allison weren’t so ready to fall asleep, she’d get up and do a jig. Instead of dancing like an idiot Allison simply nods and swoops in for another kiss. 

“Fine. But don’t blame me when you fall off the bed the next time you roll over in your sleep.”

***

They push the beds together a week later after Lydia nearly falls off Allison’s bed during a heated make-out session.


End file.
